Unbelievers

Chapter 9.8

Louis has all of his things packed. His cleats, towel, fresh clothes, and shin-guards (which are newly washed, because they smelled terrible so Louis decided to throw them in the washing machine, and it worked) are all stuffed neatly into his training bag, waiting by the door.

The game is in two and a half hours, and Mark is supposed to come by and pick him up soon. He isn't nervous, but his stomach feels strange. This is the game the entire senior year has been leading up to, and now he doesn't know how to feel about it.

It's strange to think that the semi-final was almost a month ago. Everything is so different now, it feels like the last time he slept with Harry didn't even happen. It's fucked up, but then again, everything is always a little fucked up. He should be used to it.

"Louis!" Lottie calls from the kitchen. "Dad's here!"

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" His mother comes running from the living room, stopping him from picking his bag up. She grabs his head between her hands and plants a loud kiss on each of his cheeks. "Good luck! You'll do great! And we'll be watching all together. If you want to find us, look for the pink, sparkly sign with your jersey number."

Louis grimaces as she lets his head go. "You made a sign?"

"The twins did it. Mark sent me a picture."

Louis shakes his head, hiding his smile as he bends down to strap his bag over his shoulder. "I'll just go now."

"Hold on!" Lottie comes out into the hall and wraps her arms around him in a brief hug before he goes. "Good luck, bro. Don't suck."

"You make me feel so loved." Louis smiles, then turns around and strolls out the door, waving a hand behind him. He pulls his hoodie over his head, quickly traipsing down the stone path to the dark blue Volvo waiting at the curb. He jumps into the passenger seat, closing the door and putting on his seatbelt as Mark turns on the ignition.

"Hi," Louis greets after a moment.

"You don't sound nervous at all. What's wrong?" Mark asks instantly.

"What do you mean?"

"Your foot isn't tapping and your posture isn't tense. Come on, what's going on?" He gives him a frown, reminding him that he knows him so well.

Louis looks at his father. "You can't tell anyone if I tell you."

He's still frowning, but nods nonetheless. "What is it?"

"D'you promise?"

"You have my word."

Louis sighs. "I didn't get into Manchester. This match doesn't matter." He turns back to staring out the window. Mark is quiet for a few moments, but he can't do anything but simply open his mouth before Louis interrupts him. "I know."

He doesn't have to say more and his dad's hand reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs. Louis can't see his face because he refuses to face him. "It's going to be fine," Mark says then, voice calming, and there isn't a note of worry in his voice. It frustrates Louis immensely. "I know it will. Football doesn't necessarily have to be everything, Louis, but there are other schools, love. We don't have to talk about it now, but we can fix this, yeah?"

Louis doesn't answer, but he knows he's wrong. Footie is everything.

After a couple of minutes they reach the school. Mark drives him all the way to the building, stopping at the end of the parking lot.

"Louis," he says, as Louis is about to close the door behind him. "Don't give up just yet. After all, this is just one match. You and your boys just want to win the championship, yeah?"